Mars Time: 14:47, February 18, 2295

  Maintenance sublevel, Section 4-Chetsun, Red Rabbit Warren

  "Fuck whatever that was…" Sigrun's boots scraped against the gritty tunnel floor, each step echoing faintly in the narrow passage as she pushed deeper, away from Fuuka's Creeper bite. The air was heavy down here, thick with rust from exposed pipes and the faint, sour tang of old urine soaking into the concrete. Her ribs throbbed with every breath, dull though mostly negligible ache from Marcus's earlier blows.

  But all that paled against the new fire building inside her. Hot, insistent, like coals smoldering in her belly, radiating out to make her skin prickle and flush under her clothes.

  "It shouldn't feel this hot. It just shouldn't." She muttered, her voice rough, bouncing off the damp walls. She leaned against a cracked bulkhead for a moment, back feeling the metal through her trench coat and turtleneck, grounding her just enough. But the Creeper's bite on her neck pulsed warmly, a sticky residue from its fangs lingering on her skin, slick and faintly tingling. The slime from its coils had soaked into her turtleneck and pants, cool at first but now warming against her body heat, carrying an almost floral scent that clogged her nose and made her head swim.

  She shook her head hard, blonde strands sticking to her sweaty forehead, trying to shove the fog away. Focus on the mission. The High-Grade Zephyrium, worth fifty thousand Atomic Dollars, was still down there, and so were the others—Jabari, Marcus, Fuuka.

  But her thighs rubbed together with each step, sending unwelcome jolts up her spine, her breath coming hotter. Distracted like this? She'd get herself killed down here, fumbling a swing or missing a shadow of someone or something trying to ambush her.

  Ahead, a flickering sign caught her eye under a buzzing light strip: 'GENDER-NEUTRAL RESTROOM'.

  The door hung crooked on rusted hinges, half-open, revealing a dim interior that reeked of mildew and stale sweat. Private enough, though. She shouldered through, the wood creaking under her push, and wedged a loose pipe across it as a makeshift bar. Click. Secure. The room was a dump—crunchy grit underfoot from years of neglect, a single open stall with a cracked toilet, and a lumpy mattress dragged in by some squatter, stained dark in places she didn't want to think about. The air tasted metallic, like chewing on foil, mixed with the faint rot of old plumbing.

  The surge hit her full then, buckling her knees. She grabbed the sink's edge, porcelain cold and chipped under her palms, as heat flooded her core. Her clit throbbed, demanding, and she felt a fresh trickle of wetness soak into her underwear.

  "The fuck is this dritt?" she growled at her reflection in the foggy, cracked mirror. Her face stared back, cheeks pinked, blue eyes dilated and hazy, lips parted as she panted. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, salty when she licked it away.

  Her silver white Nucleus Watch buzzed against her wrist, the vibration traveling up her arm like a tease.

  [Warning: Polluted Aether Detected - Toxin Influence Active: Proxima Poison Creeper]

  [Libido: 6 → 9 (Toxin-Induced)]

  "Pheromones..." She said, realization dawning. Whatever that thing had dumped into her bloodstream was twisting her up bad. Her nipples tightened painfully against the fabric, and between her legs, a slick heat built, uninvited and urgent.

  Fuuka's alien crap was gunking up her psionics, lacing unwanted lust into her Aether like bad fuel. Flush it out, or stay useless, tripping over her own boots while her mind wandered to...things she shouldn't.

  [Recommendation: Release polluted Aether to regain clarity. Manual stimulation advised.]

  She glared at the blue hologram. "Some great advice, watch..."

  Time to handle it.

  She thunked Járn down on the sink, the one-handed axe's steel clanging against the basin, crisp vibrations humming through her fingers. Sigrun felt exposed without it in hand, but she needed freedom. She found an oddly clean white mattress on the floor and sat onto it.

  Her belt buckle clicked open next, cool air kissing her snowy skin as she shoved her black pants down her hips, the fabric sliding against her thighs. They pooled at her boots with a soft thud, gray lace underwear following, leaving her bare from the waist down. Goosebumps prickled her legs in the chill, but the heat between them overrode it, her folds slick and swollen already.

  From her coat pocket, she took out the bottle of regular Indra-Sprite vial, smelling faintly of sweet mango and tart durian. She tilted it back, the liquid cool and fizzy on her tongue, sliding down with a fruity burn that warmed her throat.

  But damn, the shimmering blue liquid amplified everything: the heat spiked, her core clenching empty, nipples aching like they needed teeth on them.

  Sigrun leaned back against the wall, the rough concrete feeling cold on her left shoulder, the damaged portion on her coat and turtleneck sticking out.

  [Aether Recovery in Progress - Avoid spell usage for now]

  Her hand trailed down, fingers brushing through her trimmed blonde curls, then dipping lower.

  [Aether Fully recovered]

  [Warning: Polluted Aether Detected!]

  Her womanhood was wet. So wet already, her fingertips came away glossy. She started slow, circling her clit with two fingers, the pressure sending sparks through her nerves. The restroom's chill made her skin tighten, but her touch warmed it fast, building that familiar buzz.

  At least this was more pleasurable than an average session with her Leased Lily clients.

  "Mmm...yeaaah," she breathed, the sound low and throaty, echoing off the tiles. Her mind drifted, pulling up easy fantasies to speed things along. Marcus, the Valoran in shiny silverite armor, his big hands gripping her hips, that solid body slamming into her from behind, the slap of skin on skin, his fine beard rubbing her neck, his grunts filling her ears. Then Jabari, the witty Maridian Griot, sliding in front, ebony palms tilting her chin up, filling her mouth with his length, the salty taste of him on her tongue as they worked her together. Could the three of them enjoy a spitroast, in a different life? The idea made her huff a quiet laugh, but it twisted the heat tighter.

  Her fingers pressed the vulva harder as she slid them inside—one, then two—curling up to hit that spot, the stretch pulling a soft gasp from herself. Wet sounds filled the air, squelchy and real, her arousal fluid dripping down her hand.

  "Like that...just like that," she whispered to the empty stall, voice husky. Her free hand shoved up her turtleneck, gliding against her ribs, and cupped her breast, thumb flicking the nipple. It peaked hard in the cold, sending zips down her entire body.

  But then her mind slipped—Ivar. His gentle touch from years ago, fingers light on her skin, the clean soap smell of him as he kissed her neck, whispering her name like a prayer. The memory hit like a punch, sweet and sharp, making her falter. Fingers slowed.

  "Yes…Ivar…" Excitement wormed in. "After all this time, all these men…I still want you, Ivar…"

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  Broken. Was that what she was? Chasing highs in filthy places just to function?

  Push it down. Keep going. Survival.

  And then, quick as a flash—Xin.

  Those soft eyes behind his nerdy black-rimmed glasses, that riculously high Libido humming under his awkwardness, his slender hands tentative but eager, maybe smelling like engine grease and cheap noodles that she'd never seen him with. What would he sound like, moaning her name?

  The thought surprised her, made the flesh of her inner walls flutter around her fingers. "Fuck...why you." She shoved it aside, back to Ivar, Marcus and Jabari. Safer. No mess.

  She sped up, thumb grinding her clit while her fingers thrust deeper, the slick glide easy now.

  [Health Stable] [Aether Depleting (Toxin Flush in Progress)]

  Her Aether drained, the bad stuff seeping out with her wetness, coating her thighs sticky and warm. She shifted on the mattress, the fabric scratchy under her bare ass as she lay back, knees bent, boots scraping the floor. Hand working faster now, breaths coming in pants that fogged the air. "Like that...almost there..." A moan slipped out, raw and needy—she did that alone, talked herself through it, chased the edge without apology. She bucked her hips up, meeting her own thrusts, the musky scent of her own arousal mixing with the room's mildew.

  The climax crashed hard, her body arching off the mattress, fingers buried as she squirted—hot gush soaking her hand, splashing the stained fabric with a wet patter. "Oh dritt...yyyesss!" The words burst out, echoing, her thighs quivering, toes curling in her boots.

  Messy as hell—sticky everywhere, her hand drenched, fingertips damp, the mattress damper—but good. So damn good, the release washing away the fog in waves.

  She slumped back, chest heaving, the aftershocks twitching through her. Sweat cooled on her skin, making her shiver. Her Nucleus Watch chimed:

  [Toxin Flush Complete. Clarity Restored.]

  Sigrun pushed up slow, grabbing a Medi-Vap from her coat. The injector hissed against her mouth as she huffed from it, bitter mist filling her nose as nanobots worked to scrub her body clean—wiping the slime, the stickiness, leaving her fresh if a bit raw.

  [Health Fully Recovered]

  She dressed quick, lace scraping sensitive skin, pants zipping with a metallic rasp, belt buckling snug.

  Mind sharp now, but the doubt lingered. Thinking about Xin when she was pleasuring herself? Really? She was tougher than that. Had to be.

  She stood up and washed her hands at the sink, clean underground water scrubbing away the stain, her Thermal Axe resting on the side, just within reach if someone somehow broke in.

  Drying her hands with a nearby drier, Sigrun's fingers then found the torn edges on her left shoulder: fabric shredded clean through, exposing pale skin beneath. Cold air bit at the exposed flesh, making her shiver.

  "Can't walk around like this." She twisted, trying to assess the full damage. The tear ran from collarbone to shoulder blade, wide enough that anyone looking would see too much skin. Wrong kind of attention in these tunnels.

  Her eyes tracked back to the wall box. 'SELF-SERVICE REPAIR KIT' stenciled in faded yellow paint above the digital pad, which pulsed with a dim amber glow.

  Worth a shot.

  She moved to the box, pressing her palm against the pad. The screen lit up blue, displaying a grid of symbols: numbers, letters, some kind of sequence pattern. Her fingers hovered over it.

  "Press one, see what happens." She tapped a random number. The screen blinked red, reset. Different symbols now.

  She tried another combination. Red blink. Reset.

  "What the fuck..." She leaned closer, squinting at the display. The symbols looked familiar. Coordinates? Date format? Her brain refused to work, like trying to grab smoke.

  The screen reset again, showing a new pattern.

  Sigrun's jaw clenched. She jabbed at the pad harder, punching in whatever sequences that felt right. Each failed attempt frustrated her more.

  Red. Red. Red.

  "Dritt!" Her fist slammed against the wall beside the box, concrete scraping her knuckles. The slight pain felt good—simple, honest, like her punch.

  She stepped back, breathing hard through her nose.

  Her hand went to Járn's handle. The axe came free with a satisfying weight, thermal core still warm from her earlier work. She wedged the blade's edge into the seam where the box met the wall, trying to find a gap.

  "Think you're tough? Let's see how tough…" Metal scraped metal, the sound harsh in the small restroom. She threw her weight against the handle, using the axe as a pry bar. Her ivory shoulders bulged with the effort, the torn coat fabric pulling against damaged skin.

  The box didn't budge. Whatever held it shut was stronger. A metallic groan came, but not from the box. From the axe handle itself, threatening to bend under the pressure.

  "Go fuck yourself!" She released immediately. Breaking Járn over a supply box would be stupid.

  The box sat there with its glowing pad and locked contents. She could almost picture what was inside: fabric patches, sealant compound, maybe thread and needles. Basic field repair gear. Ironically just what she needed.

  Sigrun clipped Járn back to her belt and turned away. Her reflection caught in the cracked mirror: half-up blonde ponytail stuck to her sweaty forehead, that torn shoulder showing too much skin, blue eyes still slightly hazed.

  She yanked the restroom door open hard, rust flaking from the hinges.

  She stepped through—

  And froze.

  Xin stood there, a deep green 10mm raised in a two-handed grip, the barrel aimed directly at where her chest had been behind the door. His black-rimmed glasses reflected the overhead lights, eyes wide behind them.

  The blue lizard creature—H?kon—perched on his left shoulder, copper blue scales catching the dim glow. The little Diabolisk's head tilted, pupils dilating.

  "Sky Lady!" H?kon's voice carried pure delight, tail swishing.

  The 10mm lowered immediately, Xin's grip loosening. "Sigrun!? I didn't—" His left hand came up, olive palm facing her. "Sorry, I thought—"

  "You were following me." Her hand went to Járn's handle, fingers closing around steel.

  "No! No, I…" Xin holstered the 10mm with fumbling movements, the weapon stuck on his puffer jacket twice before sliding into his pocket. His face flushed. "My Nucleus Watch picked up something! A heart rate spike behind this door. Very, very elevated. I thought someone was in trouble."

  Sigrun's jaw clenched. Her heart rate. Of course it had been elevated. She'd just—

  Her cheeks burned.

  "So you were what, monitoring bio-signs in the area?" Her voice came out flat, controlled. "Tracking people? Like some creepy pervert?"

  "No! Just—the watch alerts me when there's unusual activity nearby. Safety feature." He adjusted his glasses with his index finger nervously. "I keep it active on bounty hunts to avoid unnecessary fight, obviously. I mean, I thought whatever's inside the restroom was worth checking if it was...someone."

  "Someone." She stepped closer, boots crunching on tunnel floor. "Or me."

  "Well—" His eyes darted to the side, then back. "Your heart rate was really high. I thought maybe you were fighting something, or injured, or—"

  "Or what, Xin?" She was close enough now to see sweat beading on his forehead despite the tunnel's chill.

  H?kon chirped, confused, looking between them. His tail wrapped tighter around Xin's neck for stability.

  "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." The words tumbled out fast.

  "So you knew it was me." She said. Not a question.

  "I wish I did, but no." Xin swallowed, throat bobbing. "Though, WTF Number 7 is just nearby, near where I came in."

  "'WTF'!? That how you nerds curse?" Sigrun said incredulously.

  "OH no! Water Treatment Facility #7. It's got fresh water, though. I visualized the Warrens on my laptop over brunch, and decided it was the optimal entry point. Into this…dungeon?" He gestured around them. The nervousness in his tone earlier was starting to vanish. "But then I picked up noises. Like metal scraping against stone, like…"

  "Like this?" She gestured to Járn on her belt.

  "Yes! Yes, yes, exactly. Were you carving at the walls as you—" He paused. "—walk?"

  "So you did follow me." She crossed her arms now, wincing as the motion pulled her torn shoulder against the broken ballistic fabric.

  "No! I mean—" His flush deepened but his hands lowered, 10mm aiming at the floor. "Actually, now that you mention it, I guess I did follow you. Just not in a pre-planned, saw-it-coming way."

  "Pappa worry about Sky Lady." H?kon offered helpfully, raising both tiny claws. "Pappa say, 'pretty lady hurt' and walk fast!"

  Xin's expression went from embarrassed to mortified. "Hey, H?kon—I didn't say pretty—"

  "You say! In tunnel!" H?kon's tail thumped against Xin's shoulder with enthusiasm. "You say 'pretty lady tough-tough but tunnel bad-bad!'"

  "I was concerned from a tactical standpoint." Xin's free hand gestured uselessly. "I did the research. Someone is behind how the Warrens work, when the tunnels shift and how, all artificial. Not sure how you ended up on this side, but this…"

  "This?" Sigrun's eyebrow raised.

  "…is probably the safest spot in the Warrens."

  "Uh-huh."

  "—though I still thought maybe if you needed medical assistance, I could—"

  "What, carry me out?" She almost smiled despite herself. "You weigh maybe fifty kilos soaking wet."

  "I do have a higher Intellect stat than what is optimal for decent survival!" His voice pitched up defensively. "Could figure something out. Leverage, or—"

  "Pappa very smart!" H?kon agreed, bobbing his tiny head. "And Sky Lady very pretty!"

  "H?kon, buddy. That's enough help." Xin pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

  Sigrun's hand left Járn's handle. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.

  "Fine." She exhaled. "You weren't stalking me. Just your watch is nosy. We're in the same tunnel system. Coincidence."

  "Thank you." Xin looked relieved. "But I'm glad you're okay—"

  "Can you hack locks?" She jerked her thumb back toward the restroom. "Programmable ones?"

  He blinked at the subject change. "Excuse me?"

  "There's a repair kit in there. Locked supply box. I need what's inside." She gestured at the torn fabric around her left shoulder, where pale skin, though healed, showed through shredded ballistic weave. "I can't walk around like this."